The toilet smelled of smoke and the sour dampness of cheap soap. Sang-woo stood against the wall, leaning his shoulder, one leg slightly bent at the knee. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers, a little luxury, a little death. He took a deep drag and blew the smoke out through his nostrils, as if it could clear his thoughts.

“You do realize that we’ll just be processed into meat if the next game is a team game?” His voice was even, calm, like a man who had already calculated everything.

The girl/boy with the cigarette across from him smirked, blowing smoke rings that quickly disintegrated in the confined space. She/he tilted her head slightly to assess him.

“You’re thinking too much. Maybe we’ll just survive as we go?”

He snorted.

“Survival ‘as we go’ is for those who count on luck. There’s no luck here. Only math.”

The silence hung between them, broken only by the hiss of the cigarettes. He looked away, but after a moment he spoke again, quieter this time, with barely perceptible bitterness:

“Tell me, have you ever thought about what you’ll do with the money if… well, if you get out of here? Or is this just a smokescreen, like everything else?”

His eyes narrowed slightly in her/his direction. He wasn’t looking for candor, wasn’t expecting it. But somewhere deep inside, he was hoping to hear something that might make this hell make some sense.